The Hush House
by Haley's Comet
Summary: Extremely AU: It's 1923 in New York during the time of the Volstead act to disallow alchohol, but Sean cameron runs a speakeasy for bootleg liquor. What happens when the Juice joint's best lounge singer is murdered? Includes gangsters, flappers and more.


**Description/Setting:** It's December of 1923 in New York, during the time of the enforced Volstead act, which was inflicted to reduce poverty and crime within the nation by wiping out all alcohol from the country. You should already be able to tell that this is extremely AU. I don't write a whole lot of extreme AU fics, so if it's terrible, let me know. Anyways—one glass of wine during dinner could get anyone arrested, but luckily there are places within the area often called _hush houses_ or _speakeasies_ where you can go for illegal alcohol and maybe even some entertainment. This story takes place within a speakeasy in the basement of a low-key, overlooked, and abandoned bistro, now owned by a former bartender. Within this pub are bouncers, gangsters, entertainers and flappers, and are allowed to go about there business due to disloyal feds who help them keep the place a secret. Shortly after a mysterious girl came into the establishment, on of the speakeasy's singers was murdered, causing everyone looking to put the blame on someone else. I've also never written a mystery fic, so bare with me. This story is very guys-and-dolls, but still not where I got my inspiration. I fail miserably at descriptions, so you should try reading it even if you don't think it sounds very good.

**Disclaimer:**If I owned Degrassi, I sure as hell wouldn't be writing fan fictions for it. Instead I would be dictating the show to my every desire. Tell me you wouldn't if you had the chance… I also, of course, do not own any of the songs that may be used in this story. Keep that in mind, and please don't sue :)

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The busy streets of New York buzzed in an intimidating manor, the way it usually did, leaving a beautiful red-headed girl who was caught in the middle of it all feeling flustered with the notion. She didn't know anyone in the city, but it had always been her dream to travel here. She was glad to finally be on her own, leaving her family to be boldly independent. It wasn't what most would expect to be suitable for a woman of her young age, but she didn't really care. She always knew she was different, and her parents were finally beginning to realize this as well.

Before she knew it, the woman was pushing her way thorough spinning doors of a massive and modern looking building, escaping from the cold that nipped at her already rosy cheeks. The rest of her body was already covered in proper winter attire, so not to be effected by the harsh winter chill. As she approached the front desk, ran by a middle-aged woman whose fingers were glued to an impressive looking type-writer, a shutter went through her spine.

The woman looked up and rested her hands over her lap. "Name?" She asked rather pleasantly.

"Eleanor Nash. I'm here to see—"

"I have you right here, Eleanor." She woman said looking down at a schedule she had on her desk. "Second floor—first door on your right, okay Hun?" She said, as if leaving a faint remark on her age. Eleanor thanked her and advanced to the elevator in the far corner of the large room. She was greeted by a bellhop that took her to floor two. She showed gratitude to the man and got off at her floor, then knocked on the accurate door that had been advised.

"Come in." The man on the other side of the door allowed. Eleanor obliged, and then entered the office. There was a golden plaque on the desk reading _Jesse Stefanovic. _When he looked up he looked almost surprised to see her standing before him.

Eleanor outstretched her hand, and he shook it hesitantly. "Mr. Stefanovic, I'm Eleanor Nash and I want you to publish my article. I sent it to you weeks ago, and when I hadn't gotten reply, I—"

"Eleanor, is it?" He asked as if he were already forgetting her name. "If I didn't respond to the article it means I either didn't like it, or I haven't even read it yet. And to be quite honest, I probably haven't bothered with it yet. I'm a busy man and I have people sending in articles all the time. They rarely show up at my office, however… "

"Sir, please." She pleaded, setting her article on his desk. "Just…humor me?" Her spirits lifted considerably as he took in a deep sigh and held the paper to his eyes. She carefully took in ever expression that he made, but unfortunately there wasn't much. She shifted her weight uncomfortably until he finally finished reading.

"This is pretty meaningful stuff…" He said, meeting her eye line. "For a _dame,_ anyway." He added, some-what skeptically.

Eleanor's face fell slightly, taking a seat at a comfortable chair adjacent to Jesse's desk. "Well, is it—"

"Good?" Jesse interrupted. "Yes, it's very good I would say. But honestly, who would take it seriously? I wouldn't. But hell, if you want a new wave of feminists supporting your every—"

"I get it." She said sadly. "But—what if you make it anonymous?" He thought long and hard about the proposal and chuckled slightly.

"I'll tell you what. I'll make this piece anonymous, and if you come back with an even better story, I'll put your name on it. How's that sound?"

Her eyes widened and as she nodded, giving her approval, her lips curled up into a genuine smile; something that hasn't happened since she arrived in New York. She then left the building feeling positively surreal. She felt like she was finally going to start living the dream. In her distant and trancelike state, she bumped into someone in the street, causing his briefcase to come crashing to the ground.

"Oh, I'm _so _sorry!" She said, immediately dropping to the ground to help him pick up his case. He went down at the same time, and when she lifted her face, there eyes met. She was taken back by how handsome he was, and was glad her cheeks were already red from the cold to conceal her blushing. He smiled at her, making her want to melt.

"It's a'right." He said, getting to his feet and offering her a hand. She took it without a thought and stood hastily.

"I beg you won't think of me to be this clumsy. I'm honestly not in m y right mind." She said nervously, running a gloved hand through her red strands of hair. "I'm just a bit…preoccupied."

"Don't worry about it" He chuckled, eyeing her intriguingly. "What's your name?" He asked curiously, taking in her beauty.

""M—my name?" She asked, feeling flustered again.

"Well I figure I should know the name of the doll who just about took me out back there." He replied, making her laugh a little.

"Eleanor." She responded shyly, trying not to stare at how gorgeous he was. He presented his hand to her, and she took it tentatively, tucking some hair behind her ear.

"It's nice meeting you." He said, holding her hand tightly within his own. "Craig Manning."

"It's nice to meet you too, Craig." She emphasized his name slightly, thinking of it to be rather peculiar and ahead of it's time. _'Craig'_ she said once more it her head, _'that's a nice name.'_

As she started walking down the street, he followed alongside her, wanting more conversation. "So what do you do?" She asked him, eyeing his briefcase and feeling slightly bolder then before.

"I'm a…musician." He said, sounding almost like he was dreading her reaction. Fortunately, she seemed to be impressed with his profession.

"Like, a singer?" She questioned.

"Yeah." He replied, smiling again. "At a bistro my friend owns. And what do you do?" He asked curiously, in a way that made her feel important.

"Aspiring journalist." She replied bluntly.

"Is that right…" He said nodding, and looking down the street at nothing in particular. She was worried that he might think less of her for trying to be a writer in a man's world, but it didn't seem like he did.

"So—if you're a musician, then why do you carry around a briefcase?" She felt slightly embarrassed for wondering out loud, but was still interested for the answer. Then, the right side of Craig's mouth curled up into a sly half-smile, and he ignored the question completely.

"Do you want to come to the Bistro with me tonight?" He asked, stopping and turning around to face her straight-on. He then tilted his head to the side, looking slightly distracted like there was some place else he needed to be. Normally, she would refuse on account of the request being a little forward since they just met, but if he weren't so damn attractive…

"Um, sure." She replied lamely, mentally scolding herself for how stupid and enthusiastic she sounded. He didn't seem to mind, though. He then gave her an unknown address and she wrote it down hastily on a notepad she had in her purse for sudden story ideas.

"So—Nine thirty then?" He asked. "I would just pick ya' up, but I have some errands to run before hand. Can you make it there by yourself?"

"I think I can manage." She replied with a smile.

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**I realize that chapter was a tinsy-bit short, but it was mainly for introductory purposes and to get into the theme or subplot. If you think it's good so far, leave a review. If you think it's horrible, leave a review. I need some opinions so I can make it better. The more reviews I receive the more inclined I am to post the next chapter :)  
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**Thanks for reading!**


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